If You Can't Stand The Heat
by OhCaptainMyKillian
Summary: Killian started working in the kitchen at a young age, his mother taking him under her culinary wing. But his life becomes muddled, and he decides to leave his past and his home behind him. When arriving at a new town he stumbles into a new chapter of his life. So can he find not only culinary success, but love along the way? You know what they say. If you can't stand the heat...
1. Prologue

~Prologue~

The wooden stool was placed right next to the stove, giving the small boy just enough room to reach up and stir the bubbling liquid. (The stool had been there as long as the boy could remember. It was something his parents had added in as soon as they deemed him old enough to help). A smile spread across his face as he pulled the long wooden spoon from the mixture, sneaking a taste while his mother's back was turned. His tongue briefly stuck out of the right side of his mouth, his forehead crinkling as he thought for a second.

Upon making his decision, he turned and glanced over his shoulder, before sneaking a handful of his mother's secret spices into the sauce. He sloshed some of the liquid onto the eye of the stove, rushing the stirring in hopes of avoiding being caught.

"I saw that," his mother teased, nudging his small shoulder with hers. She caught the mischievous glint in his bright azure eye; it was the look that never failed to give him away. She simply smirked, put her hands on her hips and watched as some of the façade dropped with a muttered sorry. She smiled, leaned down and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek, and whispered a well done in his ear. She stood back up, ruffled his hair and returned his large grin, as she stuck her own spoon into the pot.

Closing her eyes, she let the liquid slip from the utensil and coat her taste buds, a smile pulling at her lips unconsciously. When she opened her eyes again, she couldn't help but catch the hopeful, toothless grin that was being flashed in return.

"You've done good, baby," She told him, picking him up in her arms and spinning them both in a quick circle. His laughter floated, and echoed through the kitchen, his joy contagious for all those who happened to hear it.

In the moment, the two were oblivious to the impending demise; a dirty used rag. It fell gently from the upper shelf, finding its new resting spot on the ever-heating burner. Which is where it would stay, until it was too late.

As the scene transformed into one of pure terror, Killian woke up with a start, his forehead slick with the cold sweat that always accompanied the dream. Years had gone bye, the young child reaching the age of twenty-one, and still he was unable to shake the terrors that had become all too real that night.

It was as fresh in his mind now as if it had happened yesterday. The way the flames licked the side of their small cottage, the way the heat climbed along with the suffocating smoke. He could still remember the piercing screams of his father as he pulled his son's small body from the flames; the way it felt as if his skin was melting off when the fire had reached him, much quicker than anyone could prevent. But more than anything, he could recall the look in his mother's eye when she realized she wasn't going to be making it out alive, and the words she yelled that would forever haunt him.

The memories were becoming too much to handle, starting to make him feel as if someone was sitting on his chest.

Killian jumped from the bed, the current weight of his thoughts unbearable. He ran to the bathroom, throwing water in his face, and he did his best to ignore the bloodshot appearance of his eyes, along with the burns that would forever mar his skin. The marks would always serve as a reminder of the past he would prefer to leave behind. He wished he could have left it forgotten among the rubble of his home.

He slipped his mother's necklace over his head and ran his fingers through his hair roughly, pulling tightly on the strands before dropping his head down onto the cool counter. He moved from the bathroom to the bedroom window, brushing the sheer curtains aside and looking out at the countryside with a resigned sigh.

He knew he couldn't run forever; that his past wasn't something that could simply be left behind in the dust of a back road. It wasn't something that could just disappear in a rear-view mirror, but it was, however, something he preferred to push to the back of his mind.

For a while, he took to finding solace in rum bottles, choosing to drink away his troubles as soon as he was given the chance. But it wasn't long until even that didn't work; instead it increased the depression- _knowing, __somewhere deep down,_that it was not what his mother had wanted for him. However, after one particularly horrendous hangover, he finally decided it was time to focus instead on the culinary dream instilled in him through the few chances he got to cook with his mother.

It was time to do something that would make her proud.


	2. Chapter 1

~Chapter 1~

Killian threw his old, leather bag into the trunk, slamming the rusted metal with both of his hands. A small smile of triumph formed at the groan of protest produced by the rusted hinges. He took one last look at the hostel that had been his home, before finally getting into the drivers side, slamming the door, _and his past, _behind him.

While he knew his past was bumpy and full of rough patches, he wasn't all that sure his future would hold anything better. So with a sigh, he turned the key in the ignition roughly three times before the green, metal death trap finally sputtered and the engine roared loudly. The next chapter of his life was beginning (now if only his car would hold up long enough to get him somewhere).

He cranked the window down, silently cursing the manual windows. He beat his hand against the rubber steering wheel when the glass only rolled down part of the way. _All he wanted was some fresh air. _Killian tried the air conditioner, only to get black dust flying out at his face instead of the standard cold air. He cursed loudly this time, slamming his hand down on the button, trying to stop the onslaught of debris.

Trying to relieve some of the pounding that was starting in his skull, he went to flip on the radio. He was praying that music could calm some of his nerves and soothe the pulsing in his forehead. However, the small button popped off and fell onto the floorboard of the passenger's side, all the while static began playing through the scratchy speakers.

He wanted nothing more at that moment to turn around, to go back. if it was starting out like this, _then_ _what was the point in even trying_? He shook his head at the thought, remembering the path he had been on compared to what his mother had wanted for him all those years ago. _He could do this. _At least, that's what he was so desperate to convince himself of. He needed to do this.

He made about fifty more miles before he decided he couldn't take it any longer- he had to get out. He needed to take a breather. Killian pulled off at the nearest gas station, all but running inside for the bliss that was cool air. His shirt was soaked completely, the material sticking to his skin uncomfortably, no amount of pulling or rearranging serving to help the problem. With a huff, he stopped attempting to fix it, focusing instead on how dry his throat felt. Noticing it even more so now, no amount of swallowing was working to dull the scratching that felt like nails.

He made his way to the cooler; grabbing the largest bottle of water he could find and headed up to the counter. (He was ready to end his journey, although he was none to eager to get back into his traveling sauna.) He threw his crumpled notes onto the counter, not waiting for change before unscrewing the bottle cap and downing half of the cool liquid. The man behind the counter grumbled under his breath before dropping the three coins next to Killian's hand.

"Thanks, mate."

Gathering the change with an almost sarcastic smile, Killian made his way out to the car, pulling on the handle roughly as he took another gulp of the refreshing liquid. He was thankful for the chance to get out of the heat, and restore the liquids he was obviously lacking. However, the eagerness just to get the drive over with won over the desire to enjoy the cool air for any longer.

However, his door handle refused to give way.

"What else could possibly be wrong with you?" He cursed between clenched teeth. He kicked the rusted side with the toe of his boot, a chip of green paint fluttering lightly to the ground, causing his cursing to escalate. Killian kicked it a few more times, expletives occasionally slipping from his mouth in-between his attacks. He huffed, sliding down the side and drinking the last of the remaining water. It was a few moments after that in which he heard the distinct pop, the handle finally un-latching, allowing him to open the door.

"Useless piece of junk."

He dropped the bottle into the seat next to him; _of course the stupid contraption wouldn't have cup holders_. He cursed it once more- _just for good measure, _before he was back on the seemingly endless journey.

Time seemed to pass slowly. Between the unbearable heat, the cacophony of sound that came with the broken radio, and nothing to look at but open fields, Killian felt as if he was going to lose his mind at any given moment. He didn't know that this was the easy part; that nothing could manage to prepare him for his next hurdle.

The car made an unholy, gear-grinding, screech out of nowhere. Smoke billowed out of the front, blocking out any visibility Killian may have had. He cursed once more, _a habit this car was encouraging_, while doing his best to pull safely off the back road. As soon as he could, he threw the door open, and stomped to the front. Reaching underneath he applied pressure to the lever, opening the small hood and getting gassed with all the smoke being emitted. He choked and coughed, his lungs trying to expunge the toxins in which he had accidentally inhaled.

He kicked the tire, letting a scream rip from his chest and throat. It echoed over all of the desolate land. He reached into his pocket pulling out his phone; the exterior seemingly mimicking that of the now-smoking monstrosity with all it's scratches and dents.

"God fucking damn it," He cursed, _of course_ he would have no bars. Snapping it shut, he hurled the ancient piece of technology, a dull thud sounding when it finally crash-landed in the nearby field. He hoped the useless thing was shattered beyond repair, _it's not like it was worth much anyway. _

He sank down to the ground, uncaring as to the dirt he was now surely going to be covered in. He had other things to worry about. His hand ran through his hair, his fingers pulling at his dark strands as he let out another ear-shattering scream. This had to be a sign. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. This was it; there was no way out of this. There wasn't another town in either direction for miles, his phone was useless, and he wouldn't be able to reach anything on foot without passing out from dehydration. So with a resigned sigh, he got up, opening the back door, and fell in a heap across the back seat. Throwing his arm over his eyes, he laid there in wait. For what he wasn't sure, but there wasn't anything in his power that could be done.

The sun was beginning to set when he heard it, the sound of other tires coming down the gravel trail. He sat up abruptly, looking out of all the small windows. In the distance he could see a small car coming up the path. He jumped out of the car, moving to stand on the trunk, waving his hands in the air while yelling. The car pulled to a stop next to him, and the passenger window rolled down.

"You need help?" He heard, as he moved to answer. He leaned down and his breath caught in his throat. The driver was a woman, and not just any woman, but one that would put bloody sirens to shame. Her blonde hair fell in loose curls around her face and over her chest. Her pink lips pulled back into a smile that reached her olive colored eyes with a sparkle. Her eyebrow raised as he stood there staring, no doubt with his mouth hanging open.

"Uh, yes," He stammered, color coating his cheeks as he realized his mistake. His hand moved to scratch behind his ear as he stood, shaking his head and muttering to himself. _He was an idiot. _He had seen plenty of women before, had even bedded a few, and yet, this woman made him lose all functioning capabilities with so little as three words. _What was wrong with him?_

"So what happened?" She asked moving to the trunk and pulling out cables, hooking one end to the trailer hitch, and the other to the front of his car.

"I couldn't tell you," He told her, exasperation in his tone as he kicked the tire once more. She laughed at his actions, the sound causing him to crack a smile for the first time all day.

"Well, I can pull you into town. I know the mechanic went home for the night, but you're more than welcome to crash with me," She offered, shrugging slightly and pausing, waiting for his answer.

"I would hate to impose. But if you would be so kind as to pull me in I can find a place to stay-," He told her with a smile, the grin faltering when he realized he didn't know how to properly address her.

"If you're sure. I can pull you, but you'll need to sit in your car and steer," She told him smiling softly as he thanked her. "Oh, and it's Emma by the way," she muttered with a small smile. Killian answered with a large grin and a simple utterance of his name, before moving and getting in the drivers seat. She followed his lead, getting into her car and flashing him a thumbs up in her mirror. He returned it as she started up her engine and began the rest of the winding drive into town.

As they got closer, buildings became clearer, and the city lights shone dimly in the light of dusk. There was the small building just on the outskirts of town that caught his attention. Ivy was growing on the brick outside, and the lights inside were on, casting soft shadows on the dining tables and seating outside. He only got a few seconds to look at it, entranced in the simplistic beauty it seemed to emit, the tree line soon put it out of sight.

They drove for fifteen more minutes before she finally turned into a parking lot.

"Well this is you," She told him with a final smile, gathering up the rope and throwing it back into her trunk.

"What was that building? The small one on the edge of town?" He asked her as she turned to leave, stopping her before she finally made it to her car.

"It's just a small restaurant on the edge of town. It's not much, just something locally owned," She told him before bidding him a final goodnight with a light kiss on the cheek. Getting in her car, she shot him a short wave, leaving him alone in the parking lot.

He smiled and watched as her small yellow car faded out of sight. He sighed, pulling his bag out of the trunk and making his way across the street and into the lobby of the hotel. He smiled as he booked himself a room, and decided not only to see the beauty that was Emma again, but to also pay the locally owned restaurant a visit.


	3. Chapter 2

~Chapter 2~

Killian groaned, rolling over in the hard bed, pushing the lumpy pillow onto his face in exasperation. He hadn't slept much the night before, the bed having been almost as comfortable as a slate of rock. It didn't help that his mind was a jumbled mess; thoughts had been flying through his mind in a relentless assault. All of which added up to an especially early morning for Killian.

The sunrise seemed to bounce off every surface in the room, coating everything within the room in its early morning light. His hands fumbled along the nightstand looking for his beat-up phone, _one that now had a shattered display_, flipping it open long enough so that his bleary eyes could make out the time.

With a final mumbled curse, he was up, stumbling his way through the small room and into the bathroom. Rubbing his hands down his face slowly, he made eye contact with his reflection. He stared at himself for a few moments, before dropping his head and clenching his eyes shut. Turning and leaning against the counter, he worked for a moment trying to collect himself, before moving and turning the water on in the shower. He stuck his hand in, trying to gauge if the water was warming up before going about his next task.

He slipped out of his black t-shirt and blue-stripped boxers, taking in a deep breath, catching some of the steam that was now fogging up the small room. Stepping into the heated water, a groan escaped his lips, the water working to soothe his sore and aching muscles. He stood unmoving for a few minutes, his head held under the stream, while his hands pressed against the white tiles for support. With a deep sigh, he finally set about his normal routine, roughly spreading the shampoo throughout his hair, and scraping the soap against his skin. After being properly lathered, he enjoyed the effects of the water pressure once more. When a few more minutes had passed he finally made a move to cut the tap off.

Getting out of the shower, he slung a towel loosely around his waist, grabbing the remaining one from the rack as he passed by. He exited the bathroom surrounded by a cloud of warm steam. Looking out the window, he ran the towel over his hair repeatedly, shaking the cloth violently as he went, trying to dry out his locks. He swung the piece of fabric haphazardly onto the corner chair when he was through with it.

Killian meandered over to his satchel, digging through the meager contents before producing a clean pair of boxers. He moved to the next bag, getting out a new black shirt and pulling it up to his nose. _Okay, maybe not so new._ Cringing slightly, he threw the shirt aside, forcibly digging until he produced another one. Dropping the towel from around his waist, he pulled on his clothes quickly, and ran his fingers through his hair. _No point in trying to mess with something that had a mind of it's own anyways. _He sighed, throwing his room key, car keys and phone into his satchel, leaving the room partially destroyed behind him.

He got directions from the man working in the lobby, much too eager to get his car back and explore freely. After all the tow truck had come overnight, they were sure to know what was wrong with the rolling monstrosity by now. _The directions the man gave him, however, only served to point out how little he knew of the language and the geography_.

It took him thirty minutes to find the car shop that was a mere two blocks from where he had stayed the night. He was already on his last nerve by the time he got there. Killian said a silent prayer, hoping the repairs wouldn't cost him the rest of his savings, pushing in the shop, and cringing lightly as the bells went off cheerily above his head.

"What do you mean it's going to take a week?" Killian sneered, his voice rising on every punctuated syllable. He was fed up, and couldn't help taking it out on the poor repairman. The man pulled the hat from atop his head (revealing his balding scalp), and rung it in his hands as he looked down, studying the linoleum floors. He tried to explain to the crazed man in his shop that it would take a while to get parts for such an _old_ model. The old man's wrinkled face pulled together in a pleading look, as if begging this stranger to just _breathe._

Killian forcibly ran his fingers through his hair, pulling at the roots and once again cursing the piece of junk. _How many times would it serve to let him down?_

"Well what am I supposed to do in the meantime?" He asked as he let his tired body fall into the nearest chair, his head hanging in his hands. He was a picturesque example of exhaustion- for him both mentally and physically.

"We might have something," The man suggested, motioning for Killian to follow him. Which he did, albeit reluctantly, dragging his feet across their floors the entire way, leaving scuff marks as a reminder of his presence.

"This?" Killian didn't even attempt to hold in the disbelief coating the very word. _A scooter. _They wanted him to ride around on a pastel-blue moped, _for a week_. One, that much like his green monstrosity, looked like it was ready to fall to pieces at any given moment. Not to mention the thing was installed with pedals- should the engine decide to give out he would have an alternative method of getting the blasted thing moving. There was no way that _this _is what the man had in mind.

"I'm sorry monsieur, that's the only thing we can offer you at this point in time." The man told him, his head hung looking at the ground once more. Killian took a deep breath through his nose and with an exhaled groan accepted the meager excuse of transportation. _He had to get around somehow. _He nodded, accepting the meager offer, and tried to apologize for his behavior, tried to explain the reason for such an attitude. The man simply smiled softly, nodded and raised his hand as if to say, _all is forgiven. _

So with the keys in hand, Killian was finally going to get to what he wanted to do all morning. _Or he would eventually_. Whenever he could get the motor to start. Which he'd find out wouldn't be for another thirty minutes.

The tree line seemed much longer this time; the moped only reaching an exhilarating speed of twenty-two miles per hour, _in its good moments_. Cars passed and honked, some even slowing down enough to smile and wave mockingly out of the windows, before they finally speed up, leaving an irritated Killian in their dust. The urge to lift one hand off the bars long enough to flash one particular crude gesture ran through Killian's mind quite a few times as he made his way out of town.

It took him twenty minutes to make a seven-minute trip. So when he finally pulled into the gravel lot, all he wanted to do was chuck the piece of garbage. But still, he locked it up, not without giving it one swift kick, _to remind it who was in charge,_ before leaving it. He turned finally to take in the building that stood before him.

Its brown and white-bricked exterior was coated in ivy, the green plant covering almost the entire outer walls. The front door was a faded green, paint chipping off in multiple places, and beginning to crack in others. Dust and grime clouded the three large windows that lined the front, blocking an outsider from getting a quick glimpse of what lay inside. The roof had deep brown asphalt tiles, but like the door, was lacking coverage in certain areas. It was proving to be a bit of a fixer upper.

Killian's shoes crunched on the gravel, the sound ringing throughout the open area, echoing off the trees in the nearby woods. After all, the parking lot housed only one car alongside his sad excuse of a scooter.

The stairs to the front door creaked, and moaned under the pressure change as he stepped up onto the small porch. Covering his eyes with both his hands, he tried to peer in through the fogged glass, but came up with nothing. Slowly, he moved to the door and debated knocking, deciding just to try the handle before it gave way and he pushed inside.

He stood stock still in the entrance, an internal debate on what to look at first constantly running through his mind. The ceiling was painted like an open sky with a few dark treetops blocking out the otherwise clear scene. The bar looked as if they had just taken a tree, cut it in half and laid it on it's side. Lining them were wooden stools, each more stunted than the one before it, all housing a small mismatched green cushion.

The other tables scattered throughout the space were not much better. It looked like a patch of trees had grown through the floor, their trunks taken to build the bar, and their stumps left as a makeshift table. All of the stumps sat lined with green pillows rather than chairs, causing Killian to question just what the owner had in mind when decorating such a place. _He had never seen anything quite like it._

Someone spoke up from behind him suddenly, causing him to jump. Killian turned, finding a man looking at him expectantly. Killian hadn't quite caught what the man was trying to say, so he just shrugged sheepishly. Sensing the confusion on his face, the man tried once more, this time in English.

"Are you here to dine sir?"

Killian nodded slowly, feeling a little like a child caught snooping.

"Uh, sure," Killian said it hesitantly, hoping that the man wouldn't hear so much of the indecision in his voice. If he did, he made no indication of such.

The man reached over the wooden podium, producing one, dark, forest green menu. He sauntered off into the dining room, head held high, and gestured for Killian to follow.

Killian groaned slightly as his sore muscles protested the distance it took for him to go from a standing position to sitting down on one of the pillows. He looked up the man who was now several feet taller, rather than a few centimeters. The man smiled down at him.

The unruly scruff along the man's jaw line and the matching green of the chef's coat he was wearing told Killian about all he needed to know. _Suddenly the choice in décor was starting to make sense._ The man cleared his throat, pulling Killian out of his musings.

"I'm Robin. I'm the owner of Mélange Parfait de Forêt, but more importantly I will be your server this morning. Would you like to hear the specials?" He asked with a kind smile. Killian couldn't help but note a heavy English accent despite where the man had taken up residence.

Killian's mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Robin seemed to take that as the go-ahead, launching into their specials of the day. Killian tried to keep up; looking down at the menu and trying to spot the dish he was being told about, but to no avail. The language was posing as a barrier yet again.

"I'll give you a few moments to decide," Robin smiled warmly, before disappearing through the swinging doors, into what Killian could only assume was the kitchen. He sat and listened to the soft wind blowing through the trees; it was the only sound amongst the silence. He closed his eyes enjoying the momentary peace and quiet. That is, however, until a large crash echoed from the kitchen, getting louder as it rang over the wooden surfaces in the dinning room. Killian looked around, debating internally, before he stood up. His legs once again protested the change, the blood rushed to circulate as he made his way across the room and into the back. _They really needed to get some chairs for the patrons because the pillows were not cutting it. _

"Everything okay back here?" He asked as he poked his head through the door. What he found had been the furthest thing from what he expected. He took in the chrome equipment and the bright blue tiles that covered the walls. His gaze then drifted downwards.

A small boy stood smiling up at him, flour coated his cheeks. The blue tiles of the wall and the white ones of the floors were also speckled with flour, much like the boy's hair. How he had managed to get the flour on every surface would remain a mystery to Killian.

"Hi," the boy muttered shyly, his foot kicking at the flour lightly, spraying dust all over the bottoms of Killian's pants. The boy's eyes widened comically, before he stuttered out apologies left and right, running to get a cloth in which to pass off to the man. Killian chuckled slightly, reassuring the small child that everything was fine, that accidents happen, taking the small towel and wiping uselessly at the powder. The small boy thanked him in return for the kind reassurances, and introduced himself as Roland. He stuck his small hand out in offering.

"What were you trying to make?" Killian asked, bending down to his level, clasping his small hand in his own.

"Papa was teaching me how to make b-be-beignets. Then the phone rang and I accidently knocked the bowl over," Roland told him, red coloring his face, a bashful grin showcasing the dimples in his small cheeks. Killian caught sight of the broom in the corner and reached over to grab it.

"Does your papa make good beignets?" Killian asked as he moved to shovel some of the flour into a dustpan found nearby.

"Sometimes. But then sometimes he uses the organic stuff and it comes out tasting like dirt," he told him, the boys face scrunching up as he no doubt thought about the less than appetizing pastries. Roland then moved to try and help clean up some of the mess. The comment helped click the final puzzle pieces into place for Killian.

"Does your father always use these organic ingredients?" Killian asked with a wry smile.

"He tries to. Says it's what's going to put this place on the map, what's going to get it the three stars, or something," Roland told him as he absentmindedly switched from cleaning up the mess to drawing small shapes into the white powder.

"Roland what happened? Sir, you aren't supposed to be back here," Robin stuttered out all at once as he came across the scene in front of him.

"I'm sorry. I was just trying to help," Killian told him putting his hands up in surrender as he stood. He hadn't meant any harm. He took Robin's hesitance in responding as his opening.

"Actually I was wondering, by any chance are you hiring?" Killian asked with a cheeky grin, winking at Roland, who was now pulling on his father's pants leg. Robin glanced down at him, Robin shooting a smile up at him in return along with a furious nod of the head.

"And what makes you think you'd fit in here?" Robin asked, crossing his arms over his chest and raising an eyebrow.

"I know that good spices go along way. And organic doesn't have to mean it tastes like dirt. Right Roland?" Killian smiled, turning to the boy at the end of his small speech. He held his hand out for a high five. Roland giggled as he slapped his small palm against Killian's.

"Prove it," Robin challenged.

Killian simply smirked and made his way over to the stove. He would show this man and his son just what he could do in the kitchen. That having him on staff would benefit them, and maybe in turn he could get some real culinary training, something outside of what he had managed to teach himself. He could finally be where he belonged, in the kitchen.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: I know, I know. Burn me at the stakes okay? I know it's been forever but I'm in college and just like always life got in the way so if you're still with me I hope that you'll enjoy this chapter :) **

~Chapter 3~

The whisk moved through the dough roughly; it's soft scrapping noise the only disturbance in the otherwise silent space. Killian added the boiling water, lard and milk solution in slowly, beating it into the ever-growing tacky mixture with precision. Killian's arm muscles flexed with each and every minute movement. When the dough reached the consistency he desired, he scooped the mixture out onto the counter, letting it fall flat with a dull thud as he rolled it underneath his hands gently.

He pulled out the rounded dough cuter, slicing the mixture in half. He pushed one half to the side, before splitting the last one into two equal pieces. He sprinkled some flour over a long sheet of parchment paper, placing the two, now flattened, circular pieces of dough onto it afterwards. Killian pushed them to the side as he took to forming the last piece into a long rectangle, about four inches wide. After the dough was shaped, he silently asked permission by gesturing to the refrigerator. He received a curt nod from Robin in response.

"You know this dough technique is something which was crafted in medieval times. It was developed to suit the rather lack luster kitchens of the time. You know since they didn't have ovens," Killian quipped with a smile, throwing in the last statement for Roland, who giggled from his spot across the counter. He had remembered the useless facts his mother had spewed so long ago, while she walked him through the countless steps. He could even recall the quips about how even though they may not have had electricity they had spices, _so how come they didn't use them?_ He had simply shrugged, his attention wavering as she launched into something or another about the wonders of thyme (he couldn't _quite_ remember). He had chosen instead to focus on just what she was doing, rather than what she saying.

"Fascinating," Robin grumbled breaking Killian from his reverie. Robin moved his hand, gesturing in a movement representing his need for haste. He didn't have all day, _or well, he did_. Not that he would tell Killian.

Killian gave him a playful bow and salute before disappearing into the walk-in.

Killian dug through the contents of the refrigerator, looking for the last few pieces he would need. He smiled as he pulled out the small bird, a Cornish hen. He snickered lightly to himself as he pictured Robin shooting it out of the sky with an arrow. Shaking his head (trying to rid himself of the ridiculous thought), he gathered a few more necessities before walking out, and depositing all the things in his arms onto the counter.

"I don't suppose you'd let me soak this for an hour, would you?" Killian asked holding up the small Cornish hen. Robin simply raised an eyebrow, and Killian shrugged.

"Can't blame me for trying. While it may still be good, soaking it in water, kosher salt, and honey, now that would make it amazing."

Killian mixed the ingredients in a small bowl still, moving to cut the skin off the hen. He placed the small bird inside the bowl, using his hands to coat it with the liquid mixture. Grabbing the dough he had made earlier, he placed one of the circular pieces in front of him and covered it lightly in an egg wash along with five sprigs of thyme, setting the bird down on it when he was done. Robin couldn't help but look on curiously, most people just roasted the hen and it became dry inside, and the bones turned brittle.

"Hey Roland, mind pre-heating the oven for me?" Killian asked, watching as the boy's smile grew and a light gleamed brightly in his eyes. Killian recognized that look; after all it was the one he _still_ couldn't get rid of when he was cooking in the kitchen.

"How many degrees?" Roland asked as he pushed his step stool over to the oven, standing on his tiptoes to reach the knob.

"Three hundred and fifty," He called out to him, gathering the dried fruits he had found.

"What are you putting in it?" Roland asked his voice coated with curiosity. He made his way back over to Killian's counter.

"Some crystallized ginger, dried figs, prunes and apricots," He told him, putting them gently inside the bird. Roland tilted his head to the side, his face scrunching in confusion as he watched.

"You don't cut them up?"

"Well being whole makes them not only easier to eat, but it makes them more efficient. This way they can gather all the liquid of the bird and help it keep from drying out," Killian told him with a small smile as he tied the legs together with a small piece of string. Grabbing his egg wash again, he applied it to the edges of the dough. Taking the rectangular piece he wrapped it around the chicken, securing it to the bottom piece.

"It looks like play-doh!"

Killian couldn't help the loud guffaw that escaped his throat at Roland's unexpected observation. He simply sent the boy a nod and a smile, handing him some paprika and gesturing for him to spread it over the hen. He followed the small boy's motion with ground cumin, black pepper and lastly a little bit of ground all spice.

He handed the last circular piece of dough over to Roland. Coating the top of the sides with egg wash, he gestured for Roland to put the last piece on. Together they secured it into place before Killian used the rest of his egg mixture to coat the outside, _to get a good golden brown color. _

"So how long is this going to take to cook?" Robin asked, now leaning casually back against the counter as he watched Killian slide the thing into the oven. His arms were crossed, as he was still unsure about this man and wasn't quite ready to let his guard down. After all he had just invited himself into the kitchen to cook. That being said, Robin knew you could be blind and still see the potential this man had in the kitchen. Granted, he needed a bit more training, but he had the raw talent, that's for sure.

"An hour and fifteen minutes," Killian answered looking sheepish for the first time since he had entered the restaurant. He scratched behind his ear, and Robin cracked a smile.

"If what you made is good, and believe me, this is _a big if_, would you be willing to come here and work?" Robin asked after a moment of silence, his smile growing at the look of shock that crossed Killian's features. As the words sunk in, a smirk formed on Killian's lips. He simply nodded, reaching out to shake Robin's hand.

"I assure you, it will be delicious, and I cannot wait to turn this place around," Killian told him with a smile, ignoring the grumble that came from Robin at the end of his statement. Roland just cheered, his excitement at having a new person in the kitchen spilling out. Killian and Robin just chuckled, looking down at the small boy. It would take Robin a while to get used to Killian but he could do it, and Robin knew Killian was just what Mélange Parfait de Forêt needed.

The fact, which was thus confirmed about two hours later, when he served them each a bit of the dish he had made. Robin tried to ignore the smug expression Killian had as they ate in silence, none too eager to stop shoveling food in their mouth long enough to utter a sentence.

"Alright, well, if you're going to start working here, I think we need to head down to the market so you can plan a menu," Robin told him, as he placed all the plates and utensils in the sink. Roland smiled, hopping down from his stool, and shrugging into his small jacket.

"Right now?" Killian asked watching the flurry of movement that had erupted in the small space of the kitchen.

"We have to have something for you to make for dinner," Robin told him with a small smile.

Robin started to laugh when they got outside as he caught sight of the moped Killian had been traveling with.

"Geppetto got you on that old thing? Maybe you are easier to deal with than I thought," Robin told him with a laugh, before leading him over to his silver pickup truck. Roland sat in the middle of the row, tucked safely between the two, bouncing in his seat as they got closer and closer to town.

"So I'm assuming the market is a locally owned and grown kind of thing correct?" Killian asked as he slammed the door of the truck, noticing the change in volume almost immediately. It was a cacophony of sounds in the small area. Walking down the line of tents and sellers, Killian didn't know where to start. There were people milling everywhere and different things housed under each tarp. He knew it would take multiple trips for him to pick up on the good vendors and the good products, not to mention what was a good price for it all.

While Killian was trying to gain his bearings, he noticed something among the chaos. Long blonde curls were blowing in the wind, sticking out the bottom of a beanie. He didn't bother fighting the smile that formed on his face.

"I'll be right back," Killian muttered to Robin, placing his hand on the man's shoulder without looking.

Robin looked up from the tray of fish he was observing to question him, but he was already making his way across the row. With a grumble, Robin turned back to the seller asking him questions about his catch of the day.

"Fancy seeing you here," Killian joked as he made his way over to her. She ignored him for a moment as she finished up the debate she was having with a seller. He took that time to get a good look at her, to notice the sparkle that was shining fiercely in her eyes, the flush on her cheeks (whether it was from the cold or the heated argument, he was unsure) and the clothing, which accentuated her curves. With an exchange of cash and a promise to have the mushrooms delivered she finally turned to look at him.

"Well, well the car finally learns how to run?" She teased him as she made her way to the next tent, perusing what the vender had to offer. Killian offered her a sarcastic 'ha ha' and a gentle nudge on the shoulder.

"Actually no, I am currently using a different mode of transportation- actually I have a chauffeur. You know the owner of Mélange Parfait de Forêt? He's both my boss and my ride," Killian told her with a small smile. She sent him a larger one, with an accompanying good job.

"Looks like you're the enemy now though, I might not want to be seen with you," Emma told him lightly, ducking into another tent and paying the man for the container of scallops.

"And just how am I the enemy?"

"I'm the sous chef at Coeur Du Château," She told him nonchalantly, her voice light and her smile genuine. Her eyes shone with pride at the statement though, and it made Killian eager to know more about her, about her cooking. He couldn't help but smile with her. (He also couldn't help the image of them cooking together that soon formed in his head.)

"And just because I'm a chef now that makes us enemies?" Killian asked her with a small smile.

"No because you are going to try and revive the only other large restaurant, which by the way is less than a mile down the road from where I work, that makes you the enemy to my boss. Which, because she employs me and taught me everything I know, _that _makes you the enemy," She told him with a smirk, her hands resting lightly on her hips.

"So I take then, if I ask you about French cuisine," he trailed off, rolling his wrist in a continuation motion.

"Sorry," She teased with a shrug. Her name was called from the distance, a woman waiting for her by a slick black car. She was dressed to kill, in a blazer and skirt, which was accompanied by a tall pair of red pumps. Emma whispered a quick 'See you later' and placed a light kiss on his cheek before making her way over to the woman. Killian watched her go for a few minutes with a soft smile, before making his way back over to Robin and Roland.

So far this new adventure, the new chapter of his life, was proving to be very promising, and he couldn't help but think he had his mother to thank.

**A/N: Hope you guys liked it! Let me know if you did! **


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: Oh my god. I know the few of you who follow this hate me. It's been forever since I updated this story, but I finally got this new chapter done. I have like 3 weeks left of the semester and then I am going to work on getting this story wrapped up. It was never supposed to take me this long and I hate that it has. But I do hope you guys still enjoy it. Know that I'm still thinking about it all the time and working on it! **

The kitchen was a cacophony of noise. Pots clanged and clattered obnoxiously on the stove, a noise that was quickly followed by the sizzling that accompanied hot liquids evaporating on the molten stovetop. Steam billowed from the open ovens and the multitude of pans cooking away. Sweat beaded on Robin's forehead as he took in the pandemonium, a small 'v' shape forming between his brows and a scowl settling on his face.

"Killian, where are those roasted potatoes?" Robin called out, his eyes flitting from one plate to the next, taking in the various forms of disarray. Killian appeared in front of him, a pot clasped in his hand, and his eyes alight with adrenaline from the cooking.

Occasionally during a particularly grueling shift they would dull, the light fading rapidly. Thus, they never failed to reveal just how the long nights and early mornings were beginning to take their toll.

"Right here. Take a deep breath man. I've got this," Killian told him, his voice light and a small smile showing on his tired face. He plated the potatoes with a smile, putting a small sprig of rosemary on top for taste and decoration. He finished his task with a theatrical flourish and a light laugh. When he was done putting on his show, Killian pulled the towel from where it was tucked into his apron and rubbed it across his forehead. Shoving the dirty, coated fabric back into the small string around his waist, he once again allowed a smile to settle peacefully across his lips.

Robin's stomach clenched, nerves eating away at him as he thought of the future. Killian was garnering attention, and one day that would lead him astray, towards the bigger and better things that life offered. All to soon, an auspicious offer would present itself to him, would cause him to leave. Somewhere deep down, Robin knew that. After all Killian had proved night and night again for the past three moths that he could handle it, that he was born for it. He lived and breathed cooking, and better yet, he was astoundingly good at it. Robin would hate to admit it, (in fact he swore he wouldn't admit it- at least not out loud) but Killian had turned the place around. There were more people coming in to eat over the past few months then Robin had seen in years of running his restaurant.

He couldn't help the churning which started afresh in his stomach when he thought about losing Killian. He wasn't dumb, he knew before too long someone would come along and take interest in the new, young, yet-to-be-discovered, chef. After all, he had brought half the countryside to one restaurant that no one had even dared venture a mere few months ago.

"You okay there, Robin?" Killian asked. Robin shook his head and did his best to flash Killian his normal withering look._ No need to give the arrogant chef any other reason for a further inflated ego._ Killian simply smiled, patted him lightly on the shoulder and gave him a knowing look.

"Just thinking about all the customers. Those who are complaining profusely because they haven't yet been served," Robin snapped playfully, accompanied with a sly smile. He gestured ostentatiously to the plates, which were now completed. Robin still felt exposed to Killian's all-knowing gaze.

Killian could tell something had changed in the atmosphere. He could sense the introspective look, watching as Robin's smile vanished. It was evident that there was something bothering Robin, but he left it alone, a large smile pulling on his lips instead. He would figure it out eventually, but for now he could tell that it would benefit the both of them to just save it for a later date.

"Well you _finally_ have your potatoes. So how about you take them to those complaining guests you were just telling me about," Killian responded in the usual teasing manner, with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. The confidence and arrogance in which he was emitting was palpable. Robin had never known someone who infuriated him so exceedingly well; and yet the young man had also become his pseudo-son, working his way into not only his business but also his family and heart.

The night passed without further complications. The restaurant kept it's steady pace, serving customers all the way up until closing. Robin ventured from the office to find Killian, to send him home for the night, only to find he had already left. His apron dangled gently from its hook, caught in the gentle breeze of the opened door. Robin shook his head slightly, moving to close the door, a silent curse slipping from his lifting lips.

Killian sprinted from the back door, almost catapulting over the seat of his moped when he finally reached it. It took him three tries to finally get the key in the ignition and another two turns of the key to finally get the engine to roar to life. He pushed the small motor as hard as he could, the groaning sounds, the small bikes way of screaming in protest. Killian ignored it, pressing onwards into the small town.

He maneuvered through the small town quickly, taking turns too quickly and cutting time wherever possible, even hoping on the curb at one point to get around a fallen trailer. At the sight of blonde hair, he ditched his bike within a second, pushing the stupid thing as he sprinted the last few feet. He came to rest in front of her, skidding to a stop and the hunk of metal plummeted to the gravel at their feet. Emma stood her mouth hung open in shock as she struggled to get her mind to comprehend the scene in front of her.

"In a rush Killian?" She asked him as she smiled, moving around him to get her own bike- the old fashioned kind she had teased once, a bike without an ancient motor attached.

"I just wanted to see how work went today," Killian answered with a shy grin, picking up his bike and trying to his best ability to quiet his otherwise ragged breathing. Emma flipped her hair over her shoulder turning to catch his gaze out of the corner of her eye as she began walking with her bike securely rolling next to her. The crunch of gravel was delicate, much unlike the jarring crunch of his bike's weight breaking through the underlying rock pieces. He jogged to catch up, settling into her unhurried pace.

"Now if I told you that, I'd have to kill you," Emma told him with a small smile. Killian huffed, bemused, catching her responding grin that seemed to gleam in the moonlight.

"It was uneventful- gloomy even," She told him with a sad smile. He paused, a questioning look in his eyes. She shrugged slightly before she continued, "We didn't earn a second star. Today was the day to find out if we would overcome the dry spell of just one, and we didn't. Everything after that news was quiet and bland. We went about our normal work but the passion. It just wasn't there."

"Stars?" It was all Killian could manage to ask. He was at a loss for the right words. Between the revelation of her rough day at work, and the weird feeling stirring in his stomach from their close proximity, Killian at that moment, just couldn't seem to form a cohesive sentence.

"Michelin Stars. A restaurant can get three. We have one, and Regina wants two," She told him with a soft smile, pulling her bike off onto the side of the road, bending down to gather a few growing mushrooms. She put her loot into the small woven basket at the front of her bike, pausing to offer Killian a few. He shook his head and held up his hand, content to just watch her go about her task.

"Thank you, by the way, for the books," Killian finally broke the silence. He thought back to the three books on French cuisine that had appeared outside the kitchen, a small string of rope binding them together and a small white card adorned with his name.

"What books?" Emma asked him, although the small twitch of the corner of her lips gave her away. He simply smiled and shrugged, already trying to figure out how he could make it up to her.

"So Killian, tell me about yourself, how did you come to find yourself here," Emma asked, choosing to change the topic, to get away from topics that could probably get her in trouble somewhere down the line.

"Why Miss Swan, if I told you that I'd have to kill you," he told her with a wink, throwing her previous words back at her. Emma huffed, hitting him lightly in the shoulder. Killian choked out a laugh at the gesture, coughing to try and cover the noise as he caught the menacing glare Emma was sending his way.

"You first, Swan," Killian responded once more, softer this time, his free hand moving to scratch lightly behind his ear. He was none too eager to share the horrid details of his past, but he couldn't help the curiosity that bloomed when he thought of hers. He made a movement of zipping his lips, before halting their movement altogether. He set the stupid blue moped to the side, leaning it against one of the trees adorning the small road. He once again found himself having to resist the urge to just push it down and letting it slowly sink into the rushing water of the nearby river.

The more time that passed the more he assumed the mechanics of this town were incompetent, possibly imbeciles. After all, they had yet to get his car back up and running. It had been _months_, and Killian wasn't sure they had even progressed past changing one belt under the hood. It's not that the green monstrosity was in better shape than moped by any means. It did, however, reach speeds much higher than the moped's _death-defying_ twenty-nine; meaning it would make getting from Mélange Parfait de Forêt and back into town a lot faster.

Emma sitting down in the lush grass of the riverbank brought him back to reality, and out of his inner musings. He was quick to move, taking a seat next to her, keeping a safe amount of distance between them. He caught onto the nervous look flickering in her eyes and the slight shaking in her hands; reaching into his chef coat he produced a small flask. Uncapping the small metal container he passed it to her, securing it in her hand with both of his. She smiled slightly before taking a long pull.

"You don't play around do you?" She sputtered, willing the fire blooming in her throat down. She took another swig; this time welcoming the burning sensation, welcomed the harsh taste that accompanied the potent alcohol. Rum.

Her fingers moved absentmindedly to the top of the flask, occupying them with flipping the loose metal lid. The rhythmic tapping served to distract her minutely, it couldn't however, stop her from pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. The two sat in silence, the only noise being that of the scurrying wildlife and the occasional sloshing of the liquid against metal.

"Emma, you don't have to tell me," he reassured her, hoping that he hadn't scared her away. His hand moved to cover hers, working to halt their shaking.

"Do you know the process of Regina hiring someone?" Emma asked almost silently. Killian just shook his head, fearing that if he had spoken that she'd feel frightened, that akin to a baby doe. She cleared her throat once again after swallowing another large amount of the amber liquid. She passed the small metal container over to Killian watching as he took his own swallow before his azure eyes met hers expectantly.

"It's all about first impressions. I've never been good at those, even from when I was little," She muttered, her gaze firmly planted on the ground as she picked green pieces of grass from the earth. She smiled shakily at him before wiping both of her hands down her chef pants and folding them neatly in her lap.

"You make her one dish, that's it. She takes one bite; if she likes it you're in, if she doesn't-," Emma hesitated again, smiling shakily at Killian. He passed the metal container back to her. Emma was all to eager for the liquid courage, letting it ease her inhibitions, hoping it could soften the hard walls she had surrounding her. For once in her life, she _wanted_ to let someone in.

"First impressions can make or break you. I realized that relatively early on in my life. I was a child of the system back in America. I was given up as a baby and passed from home to home for as long as I could remember. I went through so many group homes that I lost count. You only got to stay in one place until the foster parents were tired of you, and then you were shipped off again. Some families were nice, and you couldn't help but hope- pray that they would want to keep you, but they never did; other homes, others left you scarred and with demons you can't bury no matter how hard you try," Emma finally managed to get out.

Killian watched her closely, noticing the way she seemed to curl in on herself, her arms wrapping tightly around her knees as tears welled in her eyes. Without thinking, Killian moved, his arm wrapping tightly around her shoulders. He pulled her small, seemingly fragile body into his, holding her close, letting her use him for the support she desperately seemed to need.

"Families would come to see us- all the girls, and I watched as my friends got adopted, finally got out of the system. Meanwhile I just got lost deeper in the dark abyss, alone. First impressions were all you had when families came looking to adopt, and I was just never _right_. It went on like that until I was seventeen. At the time I was in a particularly horrendous home. The husband was only interested in drinking and his wife was too strung out on drugs and other things to do anything about it. At first, it was just him getting upset-yelling at us, then it turned to breaking objects, which was usually followed by sending us to bed without dinner. Multiple days would pass without food, other than that which we managed to sneak. It went like that for months, and then his drinking got worse while his hand got heavier. When that started, I remember praying to be hungry because at least that was better having to go to school dressed for the frozen tundra just to hide the terrors that lied beneath."

"Emma," Killian managed to stutter out, finding himself at a complete loss for words. He had no idea what to say, no words that came to mind could possibly measure up, his emotions caught any possible sound in his throat. He couldn't stop the images that formed in his mind. They were images of Emma, much younger, emaciated and afraid, clothed in layer after of layer of clothing just trying to hide the blooming, growing issues. He clenched his eyes shut before meeting her gaze. She smiled, as if trying to reassure _him_, and his breath caught again.

This woman was so _strong_. He pulled her closer to him, tucking her head under his chin and holding her securely against his chest. He took a deep breath; reveling in the feeling of her against him, together and whole, before he bent his head forward placing a feather light kiss on the top of her head. She couldn't resist burrowing into his solid chest a little more, using his even breathing to give her the strength to continue.

"I left one month later. I packed a bag after he had one too many drinks and passed out on the couch. I ran, ran as fast as I could, all of my meager belongings secured on my back. I used the tiny amount of money I'd gathered from cleaning out the couch to buy a ticket on the first bus out. That's where I met Mary Margaret," Emma told him, using his steady heartbeat as her anchor. She wanted him to know her, wanted to tell him everything that had happened, and that alone was more terrifying than anything that she had ever faced. _She actually felt like letting someone in. _

"Who is Mary Margaret?"

Emma couldn't help but smile at the whispered question, his curiosity about her and every part of her life causing her heart to beat just a little bit faster.

"She was the only person with an empty seat next to her on that bus. She had certain warmth to her. Within a few seconds, she had taken in my rough appearance, the discoloration of my battered skin. She took my hand in hers, kissed it gently with her lips and hugged me with a feeling of comfort I never expected. When her stop came, she simply stood and offered me her hand." She pulled back long enough to take a long sip from the flask, scraping at the metal finish with her nails as she continued.

"For a while I stayed with her. She let me crash on her couch, made sure I was fed properly. She is actually the one that taught me the basics of cooking, from making the vitals such as a good ole fashioned grilled cheese, all the way to making basic sauces, that's where it all started."

Killian listened with rapt attention, his fingers moving through her soft golden locks easily as her voice reverberated through his chest, filling him with a warm and almost tingling sensation. Emma told him how she found her first job, a local pizzeria that was a block away from Mary Margaret's small apartment. She'd spent a few months working there earning enough money to buy a one-way ticket to Europe. She packed her bag, told Mary Margaret goodbye and had yet to look back.

She traveled across the countryside, even going so far as to taking a few classes along the way before she found herself in France. Falling in love with the quaint town, she bought a small loft and practiced cooking whenever she could.

"I met Regina in the market one day. I was out buying eggs; I had dropped my last one on the floor, clumsy mess that I am. She recognized the fact that I was definitely not from around here and we got to talking, and she brought me back to Coeur Du Château and had me make her an omelet. I didn't know it was a test at the time, I didn't know it was her way of testing qualifications. So when she took one bite and offered me a job, I wasn't sure what to think. She explained how she knew, knew from one bit if a chef had potential, and she could tell I did."

Killian's hand moved down to rub her back in methodic, soothing circles as she finished her story. She told him how she was hesitant and after a long conversation over coffee she accepted.

"She taught me more than I could ever hope to know. I could never have dreamed of knowing how to make even half of what was on her menu, but now I could do it in my sleep. Without her, I'd probably be working some awful nine to five day job, and working in my kitchen after coming home exhausted. I owe most of my current happiness to her, for showing me a part of myself that I truly love, that makes me happy. That was something I never expected for myself, never dreamed of and yet, in a span of a few months she made it a possibility. Otherwise, I'd just be a lost girl on her own, hungry and scared," Emma finished her drifting off at the end.

"What about you?" Emma asked turning her head up to look at him. Killian smiled down at her softly before a dark look flashed across his face. He told her about the night he lost his mom, about the nights of endless drinking, of waking up and being unable to remember what he'd done in the hours before. He closed his eyes as he talked about his family, how he lost his dad to cancer, and how the drinking got worse.

"After that I couldn't stand to be anywhere near there. My dad and I had been living in Europe at the time, I was working for a restaurant there and things were good, until he had gone to the doctor's and they found it. There had been small signs, ones that he thought were insignificant, that he kept to himself- but it was a tumor. It had progressed too far and they couldn't fight it, they could prolong the time they had, but it would have been through intense chemo," Killian couldn't stop the burning feeling that began in his eyes, tears begging to be shed at the memories that came back haunting him. At least with his father he had gotten the chance to say goodbye.

"He decided to live his last days as himself, forgoing the treatment. I dragged him wherever he wanted to go, all across the country. We did everything we could manage to fit into his small amount of time left, let him experience everything he could. It was about three months after the diagnosis that I lost him."

Emma noticed the way in which the words caught in his throat, the almost painful expression he wore as he fought the sensation choking the words out. The man before her had no parents, and neither did she. The demons they had were different, and yet in some way she couldn't help but feel that those same demons connected them in a way completely different.

They spent a few more minutes in companionable silence before Emma finally stood to her feet, dusting off her pants and heading for her bike. Killian followed her lead and together they headed down the road again, comfortably wordless.

"So all is going good? You know, with Robin?" Emma asked as they neared her building. Killian smiled down at her and simply shrugged with a nod.

"I think he's beginning to warm up to me," Killian told her with a wink. Emma let out a surprised chuckle and shook her head vehemently.

"Not quite what I meant, but good to know," She teased him smiling at him softly.

Killian smiled back, glad to know that even though there conversation had verged on deep and haunting they seemed to find their groove into light hearted rather easily.

"So I've been curious. One stand has sweet corn- and it looks amazing, but no matter how I try and cook it, it just doesn't seem to come out right. It's really tough, kind of dense. Do you know what I could do with it?"

"You're asking for cooking advice? And what would my boss think?" Emma asked in a very teasing tone, letting an almost musical laugh escape her mouth.

He simply made the motion of zipping his lips shut. Soon though a boyish carefree grin bloomed on his face and all Emma could do in response was roll her eyes and with a huff begin her answer.

"Two minutes of really high heat, put them on the barbecue or the grill for that. And then let them grill for thirty minutes on a really low heat. That should soften them."

"Softer," He muttered followed by a light hum.

"Is that the French way?" He finally asked. Emma let out a boisterous laugh. Killian narrowed his eyes and huffed again, this time in pseudo-annoyance. Emma curled her lips in on themselves, muting the noise. The mirth in her eyes gave away her

"I don't know."

"How do you know all of this? I mean I know there's Regina and Mary Margaret, and well just you in general but-," Killian trailed off as they came to a stop outside of her building.

"It's about finding it in yourself, in your heart. You can make every recipe in a book; follow every letter, every line and every instruction. However, if you don't have a love for it, let your passion flow through it then all it will ever be is a bland book recipe." She told him with a small smile, a very slight shrug of the shoulders and minor fidgeting of her shoes in the dusty earth on the side of the road.

Killian turned to her, his lips pulled up at the corner, the smile exposing the small dimples in his cheeks. He leaned back against his hunk of metal and tilted his head, regarding her.

The moonlight seemed to gleam on Emma's hair, coating the strands in the bright white light and giving off a glow that was practically ethereal. Before he could stop himself, he was by her side, his hand tangled in her hair, pulling on it gently so that her face lifted to meet his.

His gaze flickered down to her lips, before finding her eyes again. Slowly his hands moved from the nape of her neck and her hair to cup her cheeks, holding her face gently. His mouth found hers gingerly, his lips pressing against hers, while his thumbs moved to softly caress her cheek. Her hands moved to pull on the lapels of his chef coat, her eyes fluttering shut and her face tilting even further upwards to allow him more access.

"Wait," She pushed against his chest, stumbling backwards clenching her eyes shut. Her gaze finally rose to meet his, before flickering to the ground. She couldn't stand to see the look in his eye, the hurt of rejection. Her tongue swiftly moved over her lower lip, her fingers moving to touch her bottom lip, as if testing to see if the electricity would spread. She shook her head slowly; her blonde curls covering most of her face, becoming the shield she seemed to need.

"We can't. It'll be too complicated, you know opposing restaurants, bosses that hate each other. I'm sorry," She stuttered it all out quickly, rushing to get her bike. She tripped as she pushed it quickly, locking it up after more fumbling before running into the safe confines of her building. As soon as the door was shut behind her she let her body fall back against it. She slid to the ground, her breathing heavy and her walls broken.

He watched her go, his heart clenching with every furthered step.

"Such a goddamn bloody idiot," He cursed himself, his fingers moving through his hair quickly, tugging painfully on the dark locks. He moved to the moped, and with as much force as he could muster, kicked the stupid thing. It fell over, the mirror shattering against the hard ground and he let more expletives fly. How could he have been so stupid? She had been opening up, they both had, and he _ruined_ it. He kicked at the dirt, sending gravel flying along with more curses, until he felt drained and fell to ground, his head in his hands. Her words echoed in his head, stuck on repeat like a broken record.

He knew what he needed to do.

**A/N: So I hope you guys liked it! 3 Let me know if you did; I hope this answered some questions and yeah! Updates should be coming much sooner after my classes wrap sooooo... :) That's all I have to say! I hope you liked it! **


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I know it's been a while I'M SORRY! But I'm finally home for summer and got a chance to work on it again! I hope you guys still want to read it- still like it because I had some fun with this chapter. Anyways because I was so eager to get it out to you I didn't edit it- again. Which means it probably sucks and I'm sorry; but I am human after all, right? My program starts tomorrow too so while I would love to promise the remaining three parts will be prompt- I can only hope I can get it together and get them out in a timely manner. Until then, I hope you enjoy this part! I'M SORRY IF IT SUCKS**

The weeks passed slowly, time seeming to crawl as day shifted into night, all without any signs or attempt at communication from her. The weeks continued to pass, and one faithful morning at work, he received word from Robin; he had earned them a star, their first star.

His grin about split his face at the news, only lasting for a second before he realized the one person he would want to celebrate with, wasn't even speaking to him anymore. After a few more days followed the happy event, Killian began to give up hope, resigning himself to the fact that he had ruined it. That didn't stop his disappointment as days turned into weeks and weeks turned into a month. When Robin offered him an escape in the form of the market, he couldn't help the ache that formed in his chest, the acceptance rolling off of his tongue before he could stop it.

All too soon, Killian found himself standing at a stall arguing with the elderly merchant who was selling sweet corn. The escalating back-and-forth banter drew the attention of all those passing by, their voices echoing throughout the small open area.

Inside, Killian knew that it wasn't really the seller he was upset with. Yes, his prices were verging on the side of ridiculous, and he might as well just try and sell people air, but Killian knew that the problem lurking deeper beneath the surface was the internal conflict raging within him. Over the past month, he could do nothing but replay their conversation in his head like a broken record, trying to figure out just what went wrong.

With a huff, and a flashed obscene hand gesture, Killian stalked away from the small stall and the thief of a man who owned it.

He hung his head low, choosing to focus on the dirt he was kicking, rather than meet the eyes of those who had just witnessed his pseudo-breakdown. The last thing he needed was worried, pitying looks, or even the disgusted, and angry glares that were most likely aimed his way; not when all he wanted to do was put his hand through a wall.

His momentary walk of shame was halted suddenly by the appearance of black pumps and long legs standing directly in front of him, blocking his current path of escape. Looking up slowly, he caught the hardened gaze of Regina. As soon as the recognition struck him, he stood up straighter, and narrowed his eyes, his arms crossing over his chest. He had heard the stories from Robin and was none too eager to discover first hand if they were true or not.

* * *

"I don't see it," The woman muttered, her gaze shifting up and down his frame, harsh in calculation. She made a light clicking noise with her tongue as she sauntered in a slow circle around him, her heels still managing to click menacingly, even on the ground up rubble called pavement. That was a feat in and of itself.

"See what?" Killian all but sneered back. He didn't move, barely dared to breathe under her intense scrutiny, he'd be damned though if he let her see how she affected him. Robin had explained the rivalry, the intense loathing and now as he sat under the heated gaze he couldn't help but see the truth behind the words.

Regina pursed her lips, tapping it gently with her perfectly manicured red nails before stepping back. She lifted her hand lightly, making a gesture for him to follow her with a light flick of her wrist. Killian hesitated before finally allowing his feet to move, staying back about ten feet as they approached her sleek black convertible. She got in the drivers side, her hand patting the red leather of the passenger seat, a mocking invitation.

"Well? You do know how to open a car door, don't you?" She teased, the words sickly sweet on her tongue, verging on condescending. Killian simply smiled mockingly, the expression turning into a sneer as he sank into the seat, his arms once again crossing over his chest. Regina caught the gesture out of the corner of her eye and couldn't help the smirk that pulled on her lips. Killian fixed his gaze on the passing buildings doing his best to ignore her presence and the static of the haunting melody playing through the small radio. All too soon, they reached the building that had once been frequently visited by him; however, the visits had stopped abruptly after his encounter with Emma.

"Why did you bring me here?" Killian asks, trying to will himself to keep the hurt and pain from coating the simple words. His heart seems to stop beating altogether when he catches a glimpse of blonde hair, watching as Emma exits the building. She gets on her bike and starts off, glancing back over her shoulder after just a few moments pass. His heart clenches when he sees her smile, but it feels it almost crack, as he watches the wave she energetically returns to the man who is obviously headed on his way home. A simple gesture, but one not afforded to him.

"You got Robin a star, did you not?"

She responds with the question as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. With a simple smile she steps out of the car and walks up to the building, her hips swaying and her heels clicking. Killian watches, stunned by the implication in her words. He scrambles from the deep seat, his long legs making a smooth exit nearly impossible.

"What does that have to do with anything?" He inquires as he follows her into the building, the noise of her heels echoing off the white walls of the intimate dining room, so neat and orderly in comparison to Robin's. She leads him down the steps and into a kitchen, deserted, however hanging on the wall next to an employee of the month sign, is a picture of the man he saw earlier with Emma. His hands clenched along with his jaw, as he has to nearly physically retrain himself. What is this man to her? Was he the reason for the stuttered excuses and the hasty exit?

"Please don't tell me you are that dense. That has everything to do with you being here. I want another star and no one can seem to stop talking about you, so I want you to make something for me. Call it curiosity."  
The words dripped with a tone Killian couldn't quite figure out. He swallowed almost painfully, conflicted.

On one hand, if he wanted a future this was it being handed to him on a silver platter, and yet, he wouldn't be anywhere without Robin, without the chance he had reluctantly, but graciously offered him. Was he really so willing to just push that all aside? He had trained Robin's staff and the food had improved ten fold, but he still felt a sense of betrayal when even considering going through with her offer.

"Well? This is a one and done offer. If you walk out, that's it," She warned him, leaning against the counter, her legs gently crossing at the ankle as she regarded him, the picturesque version of patience. Killian took a deep breath and did his best to quiet the noise roaring in his head and ears.

He moved taking one of the aprons off the hook, and tied it around his waist as he moved towards the collection of pots and pans. He closed his eyes, taking a minute to steady the shaking in his hands before selecting a sauté pan. Using the fresh olive oil on hand, he coated the bottom of the skillet, setting it on the stove on a medium heat. While it started to simmer, he moved to the kitchen pantry with a pot grasped tightly in his hand.

He was looking for anything that may strike him as his best option. He only had one dish; really he only had one bite, to prove that he was a decent chef. It was now or never, and as he stared at the ingredients and went over possible dishes in his head only one came to mind, and he wasn't sure Regina would see it as a worthy recipe.

He grabbed a handful of fresh scallops, tossing them and some pre-made angel hair pasta noodles into the copper pot, before moving on to the herbs. Killian lifted a handful of parsley to his nose, sniffing it slightly before selecting the two best looking sprigs the pile had to offer. He moved to the basil next, taking the two biggest, greenest leaves, running his finger over both sides he decided they were fit for the dish and he tossed them into the pot along with the rest of his ingredients. Picking up garlic and pine nuts on his way out, he made his way from the pantry to the walk in refrigerator.

He was quick in his selection there, eager to be back at his station. He simply grabbed butter, stopping only when something else caught his attention. Killian smiled to himself when he found a small remainder of pecorino cheese sitting on the bottom shelf, he couldn't help but change what he had in mind, tweak it to contain the fine specimen of cheese.

He balanced the small block of pecorino on the edge of the pot before pushing the door closed with his hip. Grabbing the salt and pepper grinder with his chin, he dropped them loudly into the metal pot, and returned to his heated stove where the olive oil was now sizzling.

Turning the heat down as he passed, he dumped the contents of his pot onto the small chopping block before filling it with water and setting it aside to boil. He rested his hands on either side of the heated stove, his eyes closed and his head down as he once again attempted to gather his nerve. It was now or never.

He cursed as he realized he didn't have a food processor, that he would have to improvise on what he knew. He moved about the kitchen, trying desperately to find one, hoping that it was just somewhere discrete, that he wouldn't have to resort to the hand cutting process . His search, however, came up empty. Killian resisted the urge to let more expletives fly- after all he didn't want Regina to see him rattled. He didn't want to give her the satisfaction of it, that was something he refused to do.

Gathering the basil, garlic and pine nuts, he set them all on the chopping board, pushing the rest to the side. He took another deep breath and diced the ingredients. He rested his hand out of the way of the blade and let his muscles do the work that they remembered so.

It wasn't long before all the ingredients were cut smaller, in an almost mince. Deciding that was as small as he was going to get it with a knife, he unrolled the parchment paper, laying it over the mince before picking up a meat tenderizer. He wasn't sure it would work, there was no way it would be the same as if he had a food processor but he had to try.

He set about the task of pounding against the cutting block, only taking a break to momentarily throw the pasta into the now boiling water. After a few more minutes had passed, his arm growing weary from the incessant chopping, he moved the parchment paper and used the side of his knife to push the now finely ground mixture into a waiting glass bowl.

Killian risked a glance at Regina then, finding her now sitting on top of the nearest counter, watching him with her arms crossed and her lips pursed. So far, she seemed unimpressed, which also caused Killian to find a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. He refused to let it impact him, rather opting to ignore the intimidating woman and head off in search of a hand mixer.

"Interesting process you have there. Did Robin teach you that?"

Her voice cut through the air, causing Killian to falter and drop the mixer as he walked. He could hear the sneer in her voice, the contempt she held for the man that Killian had come to work for, and even call a friend or more recently family. (Not that he would tell Robin that- it was their unspoken agreement to never acknowledge their familial relationship.)

He rolled his eyes, and before he could stop himself he was whirling around on his heels to face her, the mixer fallen and forgotten on the tiled floor, the beaters still secured in his apron tie. When he met her gaze he plastered on a fake smile, unable to stop the snapping fire flashing in his eyes.

"Robin taught me to work with what I have. Maybe if your kitchen was a stocked better I wouldn't have to resort to _prehistoric methods_."

With that final quip and an acid tone, Killian turned his frosty glare from her, choosing instead to focus on the noodles that were now completely done cooking.

He grabbed the pot and dumped the pasta into the empty colander, the water draining and steam billowing from the small section of the sink. Leaving them to cool and the water to drain, Killian turned his attention back to the chopped ingredients, and the recently obtained hand mixer. He poured a half-cup of olive oil into the finely ground herbs and turned the mixer on, beating the two together until the oil was fully combined.

He dipped his spoon into the mixture, adding a pinch of salt and pepper for additional taste, setting it aside afterwards. Killian reached for the scallops, and coated both sides of them with a salt and pepper rub. He set them gently in the heated oil, listening to the pleasant sizzle.

"You know scallops are an easy dish to mess up," Regina called out. Killian rolled his eyes and kept at his current task.

"Not if you know what you're doing," he mumbled under his breath, refusing to acknowledge the statement any further than that. After two and a half minutes had passed her gently lifted them before flipping them to allow for an even cooking on both sides. Before the scallops could overcook, he tossed them on an empty plate. Running an empty paper towel over the pan, he set the stove to a low heat and set a pad of butter to melt.

He added parsley and garlic to the left over oil, putting the scallops back in when it was fully stirred and combined, coating them lightly. He turned the heat off and set the pan aside, moving over to the sink where he grabbed the colander of pasta.

He took a fork and spoon, using the fork to twirl the perfect amount, and transporting it with the spoon to hold it together, he left the noodles in a neat pile in the middle of a clean plate. He covered that in a small spoonful of pesto, adding two of the prepared scallops to the dish before turning back to Regina.

"Your majesty."

He mock bowed, as he set the plate in front of her. She simply jumped down from the counter and cocked her hip out to the side, her eyebrows raised and her lips pursed. (He was convinced her face may be stuck that way.)

Killian smiled, a little too sweetly, as he stood back and gestured for her to eat. Regina simply scoffed, cutting a small piece of scallop and taking an almost minuscule amount of pasta with pesto.

Time moved in slow motion as Killian watched her lift her fork to her mouth. Her lips close over the metal and her eyes go wide, the fork falling to the metal counter with a harsh clang. The air in the room is still and silent. Killian doesn't dare breathe, just waits with baited breath. Regina finally snaps herself out of it, turning her gaze back to him, the corner of her mouth lifted.

"Would you like the honor of telling Robin? Oh! Or do I need to get you a permission slip signed?"

The conversation and Regina's snickering, was disrupted as the back door of the kitchen swung shut, a startled Emma standing before them. Her eyes took in the scene before her, her gaze finally landing on Killian after flicking back and forth between the dish and Regina.

He felt his heart take off in a rushed staccato. If he thought he was nervous in front of Regina, it was nothing compared to how he felt in this moment, catching a glimpse of Emma for the first time since his failed attempt at changing their relationship into something more. The first time he had seen her in weeks, he wanted to be angry, wanted to level her with a glare, and yet he stood, frozen in his place, his face drawn into a mask of nothing.

"I'll see you in here, seven am, Monday morning. Don't be late," Regina tells him, her voice leaving no room for argument. She takes a brief moment to toss him one of the restaurant aprons, before disappearing into her office with a small flourish as a sign of dismissal, leaving the two alone with one another in the kitchen.

"Welcome to the team."

Killian barely registers the words, ones that are uttered with such harshness that he's unsure that he actually heard them correctly. He turns from watching Regina leave to the tight smile, which could almost be considered a grimace, that's plastered on Emma's face.

"You know, you were smart. It's always good to be prepared, get the insider tips. Of course, I think I deserve a thanks for tipping you off," Emma speaks again, her voice low and her tone verging on malicious.  
Killian's eyebrows furrow, and he takes a tiny step back, the feeling in his chest tight and his eyes widening at the sting of her words.

"Excuse me?" Killian asks incredulously, taking a step towards her. Emma makes sure the distance between them stays the same, backing away from him as he approaches. Killian sensing her desire to maintain the gap, drops the hand he had reached out towards her, shoving it down in his pockets.

"I tell you what it takes to get hired here, and the next time I see you, you're standing in the kitchen where I work with an apron," Emma mutters the words softly, over her shoulder as she turns her back on him. She can't help but feel hurt. She had confided in this man, trusted him and now here he was trying to overtake her job. She had seen the turn-around in business as Robin's. Emma began chopping carrots, preparing her station for dinner as her thoughts continued down the same path, Killian all but forgotten.

She couldn't help but think it wouldn't be long before Coeur du Château would be the talk of the town once more, replacing Robin's and her name, her role, all but forgotten. In its place there would be talk of the new chef, one Killian Jones, a new comer to the scene who was certainly making an impact on local cuisine.

Competition for sous chef was bound to be even more difficult. She stabbed the knife into the cutting board, falling forward on her arms as she thought about it.

She had worked her entire life, training to be the best chef she could be. She read the books, she trained and she practiced recipes over and over again. It had taken her _years _to get here, and now she was worried that he would take it all away in the blink of an eye.

Killian stood back and watched as her shoulders slumped, watched as she rested with her head down at her station, task momentarily forgotten. He didn't know exactly what he had done to upset her, _but_ he would work hard and prove that he was deserving of his new job.

However, first, he had to tell Robin that he was leaving to work for his nemesis.

**A/N: Again, I'm sorry it took me so long! But I do hope you liked it! Let me know if you did! 3 As always thank you for liking, reading and favoriting. You sunflowers are the best! **


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